


With You (With Me)

by mssrj_335



Series: Will/Santi Bin [4]
Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Gentle Kissing, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Reunions, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Written for kiss prompt:•when one person says “move away if you don’t want this” and the other person moves in for the kiss--Two years after they last parted ways, Santiago's finally coming home.
Relationships: Santiago "Pope" Garcia/William "Ironhead" Miller
Series: Will/Santi Bin [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124348
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	With You (With Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCarrot/gifts).



Santiago stands at the threshold. 

Not for the first time. 

He’s been here before, as a matter of fact. But it’s been years. Five long years since he last stepped foot on these sacred stones.

All right, maybe he’s exaggerating a bit. But it feels sacred. Or forbidden. Or some drivel or bullshit, whatever his brain’s gonna come up with to keep him from getting to the steps. To the door. And with the way his throat gets tight thinking about what waits on the other side—shit. He takes a deep breath. Squares his shoulders. Readies himself for what he might find. 

He takes a step.

—

_“You don’t have to stay down here, you know.”_

_Pope dodged calculating blue eyes in favor of staring back out at the jungle._

_“Maybe not.” He wiped at his mouth nervously. “Don’t know what else I would do though.”_

_“You could come back.”_

_Santiago turned, just half. Not giving Will all of him. That would hurt too much. Especially when he asked, “With you?” to no answer._

_The silence that followed almost made him laugh. But the bitter feeling stuck in his throat stifled it. Will didn’t say anything. And that hurt the most._

—

He looks around the yard. The garden, actually. Will must’ve taken up a hobby. Pope almost chokes thinking about it. About Will out in the sun. No gun. No armor. No fatigues. Maybe a faded old shirt instead. Torn jeans. God, would he love to see that. Set up camp here and play house for the rest of his life. Catch Will planting all of these flowers, all of these vegetables and bringing them tenderly to fruition. Who’d have figured a man like Miller would’ve had a green thumb. Well, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised? Flowers aren’t the only thing Will was able to bring to bloom. 

God but that’s sappy. Pope snorts at himself, even if he can’t find the lie in the thought. Will planted a seed in his heart. One that grew and vined and spread uncontrollably. For a long maudlin second, Santiago pauses at a patch of flowers, pulling a long cornflower petal between his fingers. The blue of it aches in his heart, like another color he’s missed.

Would Will be happy to see him?

—

_Pope stumbled back through the door. Into his shitty apartment, back to his shitty room and his lonely bed. He didn’t exactly get drunk anymore, but it was a pleasant buzz anyway. Maybe not the best way to get rid of his worries. At least not at this age. Tomorrow’s hangover already pricked at his eyes._

_Shower. Shower would be good._

_The hot spray didn't quite wash away the feeling. It hung stubbornly on, refusing to give him peace, as it usually did when whiskey sat heavy in his stomach. Why did he keep doing this? He didn't even know what it was, really. Just a familiar hollow ache and one resounding thought:_

_He missed Will._

_The bed called, ready to help him bury all the snarled feelings pulled tight in his chest. But just as he drifted off, his phone chirped, bright in the dark. Any other night, he would've left it until morning. This time, he fumbled for it, squinted against its harsh light. Oh._

_Will's name glared back at him. For the first time in a year. With shaking fingers, he swiped open the message._

**_Will Miller: Come home. With me._ **

\--

Pope takes another steadying breath, thankful for the breeze that seems to draw it out of his lungs. His boots sound too loud on the cobblestones even though they barely make any noise at all. Steps next. Leading up to a smallish concrete porch, two unassuming chairs poised facing the garden. Who has Will had for company? Benny? Probably. A sick part of his stomach wonders if it weren't someone new. Someone to take his place.

No, that's not fair. There wasn't ever a place to take, was there? Sticky fumblings between missions, half-spoken promises and stolen kisses don't count as a place. As much as he wanted them to. That's what he's doing here in the first place. All the messages, all that distance--he wants it gone. He wants those stupid little emojis to mean something. He wants to be the one to kiss Will good night instead of a message. Damn it, he wants to ask him in person if he's had a good morning. He came all this way for a very specific reason. He just hopes he has the courage to actually do it. It feels stupid and childish and the force of it dragged his ass through all his fear and the goddamn jungle right to Miller's doorstep. 

Now to actually get up the steps.

Each one feels like a mile. But does he make it? Yes. He pulls open the old screen door, it screeches. He knocks. Shoves his hands in his pockets and wait. 

It doesn't take long. A chain rattles on the other side, the deadbolt flips. And there he is. Looking just like Santiago expected him to: faded t-shirt, ripped jeans, bare feet. A look of surprise. 

"Pope?"

"...hey. Uh--" He shifts on his feet. "Surprise?"

For a moment, Will just blinks. The screen door screeches again when Will steps out onto the porch with him. Looking at Pope with those familiar calculating eyes. 

"Seven hundred seventeen days." Will tilts his head, voice rough. Like he doesn't use it much anymore. "That's a long time to wait for a surprise, Pope."

"I know." Santiago swallows hard, nods fervently. "I know that. I'm sorry."

Will takes another step toward him already shaking his head. "You don't have to be sorry."

Christ, he's actually close enough Pope could reach out and touch him. Would he actually feel real? He decides to test it. One timid hand finds its courage and Will's wrist, locking him in, pulling him closer. 

"Doesn't mean I won't be though," he murmurs. "I thought maybe I could make it right. Make us right."

"Yeah?"

Pope glances up at Ironhead and finds himself caught. Stuck like a goddamn bug in harsh electric blue. He swallows again, around the fear and the hope. Who knows which one will actually win. 

"You gotta move, right now, if you don't want me to do this." 

I don't think I could stop, would you want me to? goes unspoken. Will's wrist turns in his grip and for a terrifying second, Pope thinks he's going to move. But no. Miller steps fully into his space instead, answers the burning, silent question. One hand finds Pope's jaw, tilts his face up. The other finds his fingers, holds them tight. A breath stutters out of Santiago's chest into the space between them and Will swallows it down with a press of his lips. A jolt zings from Pope's head to his toes, he pushes up, in. Into all the space Will lets him take. Taking all the ground Will gives. Miller's firm, yes. But not unyielding. He opens for Pope to take and take until he can't take any more. 

Then Will slides away. Presses their foreheads together even as his hand trails Santiago's jaw. 

"Does this mean I get to stay?" God, he sounds wrecked. He can't clear his throat though, only push through the feeling to find his answer. He has to have it; hopes Will would give it to him. "Can I stay with you?"

"Yeah." Santiago gasps; Will kisses him again, half an answer. But at length, he finally says, "You can stay with me."


End file.
